Chapter 5 #2
Merrick’s boots thudded behind me as he stepped inside. His gaze swept across the room as I fussed with the flowers, placing them in a mason jar at the center of my small table.
“What’s in the bag?”
“A photo album. Some club stuff my dad saved and a few photos I’ve added over the years.” He pulled the items from the bag and stacked them neatly on the counter. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, please, just sit. The lamb’s in the oven and the risotto’s done.” I opened the wine and poured him a glass. I bit back a laugh as the gruff, scarred biker carefully took the long-stemmed glass into his large hands. “You don’t strike me as a wine guy.”
He grinned. “I’m not. Beer and whiskey, mostly. This is the first home-cooked meal I’ve had in a while. I live off cold pizza and sandwiches.”
I smiled, pouring a glass for myself. “Well, I love to cook, so you’re welcome to join me anytime. I always make too much and have leftovers for days.”
The timer beeped, and I pulled the sizzling cast-iron pan with two racks of lamb from the oven. The scent of rosemary and garlic filled the kitchen. With practiced precision, I carefully cut and plated the chops atop a bed of risotto, trying not to notice how Merrick watched my every move.
“This is impressive,” he said as I placed a plate before him.
“A thank you and an apology.”
Merrick raised a brow at me in question.
“I screwed up the other night, and while I’d like to blame whiskey, it was my fault.”
He shook his head. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
The memory burned hot and sharp as a flush crawled up my neck. “I just … I want to be friends, and throwing myself at you like that isn’t a great start.”
He shrugged. “You were pretty drunk. Liquor makes us do things we would never do otherwise.”
I stayed quiet at that. He was right. I’d never wanted to be with a man like Merrick, and I’d certainly never had a one-night stand. I pushed away the errant thoughts about him that left me curious, left heat pooling in my belly.
Merrick took a bite of the lamb, and his eyes widened. “This is so good. It might be one of the top ten dinners I’ve ever had in my life.”
I laughed, and the tension in my shoulders eased. “Well, you set the bar pretty low with cold pizza.”
“True, but I’ve eaten at Reaper’s a few times. He’s like Gordon Ramsay with a gun.”
I nodded, having benefited from his chef skills several times in the past week.
Merrick swallowed a gulp of wine. “So, what do you want to know?”
“What was it like, growing up?”
Merrick tilted his head, chewing on another bite of lamb before responding. “The club was different then. Rougher.”
I tried not to smirk. Merrick would be a tough interview. He didn’t say more than was necessary. I’d either have to get him drunk or use the interviewing skills I’d built during my stint as a broadcast reporter. “Thane said your dad was one of the founders?”
“Yeah, he’d grown up seeing clubs in Nevada. When he moved to Texas to be with my mom, he met Don and Tobias. They didn’t like the Rangers and what they represented. So, they started the Mavericks out of an abandoned bar Tobias bought with his inheritance.”
“The nice clubhouse hasn’t always been there?”
“Fuck no. The first one was falling apart. They made just enough improvements to get it insured, and then it mysteriously burned to the ground.”
“Mysteriously?”
Merrick shrugged. “I was old enough to know the circumstances were suspicious. I knew better than to ask questions.”
“What about your dad? What was he like?”
“Probably hits every stereotype when you think about a biker in the 1970s. He was a chain-smoking, whiskey-drinking, fist-fighting son-of-a-bitch. He taught me everything I know about working on old bikes. He died a few years ago. Lung cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” I bit my lip. “My dad died about seventeen years ago. He was a smoker, too, but now”—I gesture to the urn sitting atop a shelf—“he’s all ash.”
Merrick choked on the sip of wine he’d just swallowed.
I laughed. “Sorry. I always forget that dead dad jokes make people uncomfortable.”
He cleared his throat. “Not uncomfortable. You just surprised me.”
We chatted for a few about our fathers, swapping stories and memories.
As we quieted, Merrick stood, grabbing our empty plates and taking them to the sink.
I watched in curiosity at this rough man being so … clean. Domesticated. He rinsed our plates and put them in the dishwasher.
“What?” he asked, noticing the expression on my face.
“Nothing. I just didn’t expect a biker to be so housetrained.”
Merrick leaned his head back and laughed, his entire body shaking. “My mother ingrained it in me. The person who cooks doesn’t do the dishes. Don’t expect this behavior from my brothers, though. I let Hatchet stay with me once, and it was like living with a deranged spider monkey.”
I stood to pour us each another glass of wine. Merrick grabbed the photo album, and we moved to the couch, our knees nearly brushing together as we sat. He flipped open to the front page.
A young boy stood beside a tall, bearded man in front of a bar with a hand-painted Mavericks sign. He pointed to the photo. “This is my dad and me in front of the original clubhouse.”
He flipped to another page, where a younger girl sat at the bar with books and papers spread before her. “This is Merci, my little sister.”
I glanced at a photo of a dark-haired woman pouring a row of shots behind the bar. Her intense gaze featured the same warm brown eyes staring back at me.
“Is that your mom?”
Merrick nodded. “During the day, she taught art classes at the university. At night, she was the club bartender.”
“Is your mom still involved with the club? Is Merci?”
Merrick shook his head. “After my dad died, my mom moved in with her sister in Georgia. We all did our best to keep Merci away from the club once she hit high school. She’s too smart for this life.”
Merrick pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of him beside a tall woman with raven hair. She wore a long white coat and a bright smile. “Merci just graduated from med school. She’s an intern at a hospital in the city.” She was the spitting image of their mother.
“Wow. So, what about you? When did you decide to join the Mavericks?”
Merrick flipped forward a few pages and pointed to a photo of his younger self wearing a prospect patch beside his father. “I always knew I’d be a Maverick. I became a prospect when I got home after my last deployment to Afghanistan. Dad wanted me to carry on his legacy.”
“But what do you do for, like, a job?”
Merrick chuckled. “When I was younger, I made most of my money fixing bikes and fighting in underground clubs. Then I spent four years in the Army. Now my job is the club. As sergeant-at-arms, I get a salary. There’s a house at the back of the club property where I live, so my expenses are pretty low. ”
“But what do you actually do?”
He shrugged. “A little this, a little that. I keep club members and their old ladies safe. Keep an eye on the businesses. Manage our private security business. Make sure the Rangers stay out of town.”
“Eva said you saved her life.”
Merrick looked surprised. “She told you about that?”
“Not really. She said she couldn’t tell me much, but that I could trust you and the other guys.”
He nodded. “Reaper is our brother, and that makes Eva a part of our family.” He looked at me curiously. “What about you? I’ve told you all about my family, but you haven’t mentioned yours beyond your dad.”
I released a big sigh. “That’s because I’m the black sheep. I have three younger siblings. Everest is thirty. He’s a CFO in Boston. Logan is twenty-eight. Lawyer. And Kendall is the baby. She’s twenty. She’s becoming a psychiatrist.”
“Why are you the black sheep?”
I swallowed the last of my wine. “Because I double majored in broadcasting and PR, and I quit my job to move here. I don’t work for a Fortune 500 like my brothers. I’m not getting a doctorate like my sister. My choices don’t make for great conversation at the country club.”
“Country club?”
“Yeah, my family’s kind of rich.”
Merrick didn’t seem surprised at the admission.
“Can I keep these photos for now? I want to scan them in. Maybe use them for the video.”
Merrick nodded. “The album’s been in my attic for years, so no rush to get it back.”
We stared at each other for a moment, and I bit my lip as I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. I shook the thought from my mind. Maybe I was more buzzed than I realized. I needed to stop before making an ass out of myself. Again.
Merrick stood. “I should get going. Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll have to do this again. I don’t have many friends here yet, and it was nice to have someone to eat with for once.”
After Merrick left, I flipped through the album of photos. His energy seemed different as a child. Lighter and brighter, with a scar-free face, a big smile, and positive energy. I wondered if the club life had changed that about him.
I flipped to the end of the album, and the last photo was Merrick standing beside a beautiful woman with jet-black hair. He was kissing the top of her head. The front of her cut had a patch of a red rose.
The only thing that followed was empty slots.